


The Cabin

by MarshmallowMcGonagall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas Eve, Deathly Hallows era, F/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28849947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowMcGonagall/pseuds/MarshmallowMcGonagall
Summary: Deep in a forest, Tonks and Snape find each other in a place where happy memories were once made. She’s meant to be in hiding, he’s meant to be one of Voldemort’s men. Beneath the night’s sky, a promise is kept and smoke billows from a cabin’s chimney. Broken apart, the gloves are off, and as snow falls upon the two enemies, wands are drawn.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	The Cabin

Standing on the mountainside, he looked out across the forest, the valley below a legacy of glaciers which once tore the world apart. A place where no paths led and yet he knew his way. Beneath the clear skies, he could see a column of smoke emerging from the snow covered canopy. Everything still but for the proof there was a fire burning. The night air touched his face, winter’s caress reminding him this shouldn’t be a place to seek shelter. The smoke rose as if it were trying to reach the moon, only the grey tendrils were lost to the night before the silver crescent was in their grasp.

She was there.

She had lit the fire and she was there.

Every part of him which had spent years battling to survive screamed that he could be wrong. Someone else could be there. He knew too many of his associates would revel in doing what they could to slight him. Promises disappearing with the slip of a hand. A curse uttered by accident. He knew who would be the ones to delight in taking what Voldemort had offered him. 

No.

She was alive.

There had been no word to the contrary, and no matter the outcome he didn’t think there would be silence if she was captured. 

Alive, her wards would still be in place.

Wards she could have altered.

He had barely hours, and with all his absences from the school, he knew not to stretch his excuses. Knew not to provoke suspicion further than he was forced to. As if he had been forced to come here. And still he sacrificed time to walk down into the forest instead of Apparating. Sacrificed time to try and remember her giddy joy as she led him through the snow, stopping to lean against trees and pull him close. As she—

She wasn't going to be pleased to see him.

A Lumos lit the way but he was following her. Even without her in front of him and her hand in his. Without her promises that it wasn’t much further. It wasn't memory, but the pull of her magic. Unless he was imagining it. Unless memories were masquerading as the truth after what the past few months had wreaked upon him.

“Don’t,” he breathed, unable to keep his plea from escaping and turning to mist in front of him.

He pushed aside a low branch and kept walking to where she had led him. To where the world had stopped existing and there was only them. If only for hours.

In the last of the daylight, Tonks trudged through the snow to the holly tree in her parents’ garden. Putting the wicker basket on the ground, she disentangled branches and looked for the best pieces to take. The dragonhide gloves protecting her hands from the sharp leaves, she used carefully aimed charms to prune pieces of the tree so her mother could finish the last of the wreaths. Walking back to the cottage, Tonks stopped to take sprigs of other plants which weren’t blanketed by snow. The bird bath cleaned and refilled, she went indoors.

There were more orange slices drying in the oven and another plate of gingerbread biscuits were on the table. Her parents were planning to help Sirius and Remus decorate Grimmauld Place later that night whether they liked it or not. She knew her mother and Sirius enjoyed their annual debate over which mix of spices actually constituted the family secret recipe. Knew her father and Remus enjoyed cooking and herding everyone who was still able to gather safely at Grimmauld Place.

Tonks took off her boots, hung up her cloak, and nabbed a piece of gingerbread before her mother could stop her. Calling out insincere apologies, she went through to the small parlour and curled up in the tattered armchair closest to the fireplace. Pulling her robes around herself and summoning a blanket from the sofa, she took a bite of the gingerbread. How could it be a year? A year since he told her she tasted of Christmas. Since she asked if he was complaining. Since he kissed her again in the dark corridor of the Ministry.

In his embrace, she said there was somewhere she wanted to share with him. His query of how long it would take to get there elicited a laugh from her as he made his intentions clear. She promised it was only an Apparition and a short walk away. Quieter words as she tried to tell him that it was somewhere she hadn’t shared with anyone else. Trailing off as the threads of the bond wound around them and she realised why she hadn’t taken anyone else there. 

She brushed the gingerbread crumbs off her fingers then pushed the blanket aside. Slipping through the dark hall and upstairs, she headed to the bathroom. She ran a bath and collapsed into the water where potions spiralled, different colours racing through the water. As if she could force herself to relax. To let the tension ease from her muscles.

The glass charmed so that no one could see in, she had left the curtains open and there was only light from the fire which was burning low. The glow of flames danced across the lower panes of glass and she stared out at the darkening sky which was ready to tip into the inky depths of night. 

It should have been his hand drifting down from her belly. His fingers tracing over her thighs. His touch between her legs. Him parting her. Him stroking her clit while his other hand caressed her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple.

It should have been him.

It was him last year. 

It was him only months before.

Before he betrayed—

Before he betrayed everyone.

Water splashed over the edge of the bath as her hands flew to her face. She pushed her hair back and a half-shouted cry fell from her lips as small waves were sent surging over the roll top when she kicked the bottom of the tub.

She was meant to be somewhere else.

Where he was meant to be.

And wouldn’t be.

She sunk down in the water so that it went up to her chin. The tub was charmed to stay warm and her hands were resting on her belly, not straying beyond the occasional circle she would trace on her skin. Her head resting against the edge of the tub, she watched the glow of the flames retreat down the glass and thought of a different fire.

When she got out, she wrapped herself in towels and went through to her room. Standing in front of the mirror, she closed her eyes, and when she opened them her black hair and dark eyes had returned to her usual pink and soft brown. Raising her shoulder and twisting, she looked back at the mirror and saw, peeking above the towel, the scar from where she slipped in his quarters and caught herself on the edge of a bed post. His words soft as he murmured incantations to heal. His fingers gentle as he smoothed Dittany over the fresh scar. His laugh low when she suggested she had a good idea for how to thank him. She shivered and rubbed her arms. A flick of her wand stoked the fire. Pyjamas on and hair dried, a stack grew beside the bed of old Auror training manuals. Anything to distract. Only to manage pages before moving onto something different.

There was a knock at the door and she said, “Come in.”

Andromeda opened the door and took in the mess of books and blankets. She came over and sat beside Tonks on the bed. “Would you rather stay here this evening?” 

Tonks managed a small smile but couldn’t reply and rested her chin on her mother’s shoulder. Andromeda stroked Tonks’s back and kissed her hair. 

No one knew.

No one but them.

She didn’t know if it was better or worse that way.

It was over.

They—

She didn’t need closure.

No one else could give her his explanations.

As if she wanted his explanations.

She breathed in the sweet spicy scent which was embracing her mother and stifled a cry. 

Except—

Except everyone knew there had been someone.

Knew there had been someone she—

Someone she was no longer with.

She let them wonder while she dreamed of an answer.

Answers which were little more than an end to the war and him returning.

Hushed words from Andromeda wrapped around her. Words which managed to soothe and expose wounds all at once.

“I miss him,” whispered Tonks.

“I know, darling.”

Another kiss, this time on Tonks’s forehead, then fingers beneath her chin. Andromeda raised Tonks’s head so she could search her daughter’s eyes. Andromeda’s smile brought Tonks’s arms in an even fiercer hug around her.

“Shh,” said Andromeda, over and over. No weariness or exasperation. Just gentle sounds which were woven into the depths of another kind of bond.

The warmth of the fire sitting quietly with them, Tonks sat back and noticed Ted standing in the doorway. “Hi dad.”

He came over, perched on the edge of the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. He smelled of oranges and coffee. “Going to stay here?”

She leant against him, his soft lumpy jumper one that her mother had knitted. “Sirius is going to wonder where I am.”

“Leave it with me,” said Andromeda, patting Tonks’s leg. “So long as we’re all together for Christmas Day, he can cope with you having Christmas Eve to yourself.”

“A few hours to snaffle more gingerbread,” said Ted.

A hiccoughing laugh burst from Tonks and Ted kissed her hair as Andromeda smiled softly.

“Don’t forget there’s mulled wine on the stove and mince pies in the pantry,” said Andromeda. 

“Thank you,” said Tonks, quietly.

After more hugs and kisses, then extra ones just to be sure, Andromeda and Ted left the room and closed the door. Tonks curled up and wrapped her arms around her legs. She tried to think of how her mother was going to deal with Sirius. Her mind swirling with the worries she knew Sirius would jump to, a quiet ache settled in that place where the wondering of cold nights often found a home. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard for Sirius to see why she wanted to be alone. Why wouldn’t she miss an old flame on Christmas Eve? Why wouldn’t it hurt to be surrounded by cheer?

She looked up when the roar of the Floo drifted through the cottage, and she caught sight of a book with faded gilt edging. The one where the cloth should have covered the raised bands but there were only threads left. She had traced the patterns in the endpaper before closing the book and placing it on the shelf. Before placing wards on the surrounding dark wood. The kind which would raise suspicion if discovered. The kind which were usually used to protect things of sentimental value.

That was why.

That was why it hurt.

That was why she needed to be there.

To know her hurt was worth something.

To know they once were something else.

To know they—

She got out of bed, searched for her warmest robes to throw over her pyjamas, then went downstairs to put on her boots and cloak. Hesitating by the door which led outside, she took off her gloves and grabbed parchment and a quill from a drawer. She wrote the simplest explanation she could think of, knowing they would likely be able to guess anyway: 

_Needed to clear my head. I’ll be back in a few hours. Promise I won’t go anywhere unsafe. Love you both, N x_

She left the note pinned under the plate of gingerbread. There were Hippogriffs outlined in white icing along with snakes and badgers. Andromeda had jinxed Sirius when he requested gingerbread in the shape of lions.

Slipping on her gloves, Tonks picked up her wand and pulled up her hood. She glanced back into the kitchen but couldn’t find it in herself to regret what she was doing. She ran down the garden path illuminated by fairy lights nestled in the trees, casting a Homenum Revelio before casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself and stepping outside of the wards.

She turned.

Where he wouldn’t be.

Where she had to be.

Where once everything had been right.

No, not right. 

But where every moment was theirs. 

She landed in darkness and her boots plunged ankle deep into the snow. Her cloak crumpled against the branches behind her and she reached out, her fingertips against a tree trunk as she looked around. The bark beneath her gloves felt like a welcome. Where moonlight sought a way through the canopy, the snow glowed bright and she didn’t need to use a Lumos. As it was, she could make out the clearing. When she came across a fallen tree, she tested its strength with a push and when it didn’t move she vaulted over, landing on her feet and sinking down into the snow. There was a quiet thrill which was chased by grief like poison. She used to do that and so much more when she was on active duty. And instead she had spent months doing little more than hiding. She was restless to be useful. Brushing the snow from her knees, she stood up and kept walking.

Beneath the crescent moon, the snow in the clearing was deep and undisturbed but for animal tracks. Plants which would bloom in summer were hidden under smooth drifts. And in the middle was the cabin. Icicles hung from the lintels above the door and window. The snow glistened more brightly for a moment as she walked through the wards.

“Alohomora,” she whispered, and the sound of the lock clicking wound towards her as she approached the door. She kicked the snow off her boots then went inside. 

The cabin was built by her Muggle grandfather so many greats ago that she could never quite remember how many generations separated them. Each generation had left its mark. Intricate woodwork decorated the walls and furniture. Additions which were decades old and sometimes slipped past centuries. When her grandparents were both gone, the cabin was inherited by Ted. A few weeks later on a bright summer day when Tonks was on a break from Auror training, she and Ted stood in the clearing while Andromeda foraged nearby with her willow basket in one hand and wand in the other. 

“Your mother and I want you to have the cabin now,” said Ted. “It isn’t a home. You already have one and you’ll always have one. No, this place was built as a shelter and, well, your mother and I, we think you need a shelter of your own. Somewhere you can escape to whenever, well, whenever you need to.”

Tonks remembered the cabin from when she was a child. From when her grandparents took her for days out to play in the forest and forage for berries. Her grandmother’s chuckle filling the clearing when Tonks tried to metamorphose to match the berry strains on her fingertips. Her grandfather’s serious expression as he declared he still hadn’t found quite enough berries to make the jam he wanted to give Andromeda for Christmas. Sometimes her parents would come along, too. Long days of walking broken by stops at the cabin. There was little space inside, but in the winter, they would all try to cram in front of the fire while her grandfather told stories aided by the bottle of Ogden’s which Andromeda gave him each year. 

Tonks embraced her father and said, “Thank you.” 

Too many things neither of them could bring themselves to say. She heard footsteps and felt her mother’s hand on her back. Soft words of how they loved her wrapping around her with the summer breeze. 

She left the door open and went to the sink. Turning on the taps, she was glad to see the charms had held and the water was running. A slow swirl of her wand stirred up the air and she directed the charm outside. Fresh air rushed in and she closed the door.

“Lumos.”

Kneeling in front of the fireplace she checked the chimney was safe then took logs from the stack beside her and lit a fire.

“Nox.”

Watching the fire grow, she let the warmth wash over her. She took off her gloves and rubbed her face. The cabin was really just one room with a tiny bathroom through a doorway in the furthest corner. There was a large bed opposite the fire and a couple of wooden spindle chairs. Across one wall was a small wooden counter with a sink, above it a window covered by a heavy curtain. Below the counter were several small cupboards with mugs, bowls, and cutlery. She was sure she would find old tins of beans still in there if she looked. Possibly some Ogden’s.

Beginning to feel too warm, she clambered up and took off her cloak and robes, hanging them over the back of one of the chairs and leaving her boots underneath. She couldn’t remember which of them lit the fire when she first brought him here. It must have been her. Except all she could remember was cloaks being thrown on the floor. Clothes and grasping hands. Not wanting to be parted. 

She climbed onto the bed and pulled the quilt up around her shoulders like a cloak.

There was no hint of him.

There was no hint of—

She was being sentimental. That was all. Nothing more than memories fighting for the tangible. His arms weren’t around her. She was tired. Too many late nights thinking about today. There was heat from the fire and a cosiness from the quilt. His warmth wasn’t here. His body wasn’t against hers. 

So why did the whispers of his magic feel more real? Why could she feel the pull stirring? Why could she feel what only he had ever conjured in her? The quiet buzz and tingle which reminded her of the moments afterwards. The moments when they pulled the blankets and quilt back up over themselves. When they could slow down and just be. Bodies against each other, the slow pull of sleep coming over them.

Drifting upwards in strokes across the night, the woodsmoke looked like it was painted onto the sky. He stared at the footprints in the snow leading to the door of the cabin. Her laughter and stolen kisses. The time for introductions to her destination passed. Her hand only letting his go when he pulled her closer. Her fingers tangling in his hair with each desperate kiss. Her haste to lead him somewhere new only pausing as she sought his mouth. His hands on her body, he had long since memorised her but now there was something else beneath his touch.

In the fireplace, the flames grew and burned brighter. She grabbed her wand and shrugged the quilt off her shoulders. Easing up off the bed, she turned around in the hopes of hearing anything but the crackling of the fire. She could dismantle the wards and Disapparate. She should be raising a shield. Her fingers on the door handle, with her other hand she tightened the grip on her wand. 

The door opened and a warm orange glow tumbled out onto the snow. She was all but shadow, yet there was no disguising her drawn wand, her outstretched arm perfectly steady. There was part of him which wanted to laugh. Instead of the rugged and well fitting clothes she usually wore beneath her Auror robes—clothes which she could fight in with ease and would withstand tumbles and struggles—she was standing there in just her pyjamas. She didn’t even have her boots on. She was no less terrifying, but he realised how much he missed seeing her in pyjamas. Seeing her padding around his quarters. Seeing her—

She caught the hint of a smirk and raised her wand further.

He glanced up at the sky as snow began to fall, then he looked back at her. “You might as well get it over with.”

“You killed Dumbledore.” Why wasn’t he drawing his wand? “You’re a Death Eater.” 

“I’ve always been a Death Eater. What you mean is that I’m the enemy.” He took out his wand. “I’m the enemy and you came here alone. You didn’t even change the wards.”

He should have been intimidating but all she could think about were the tendrils of magic. Up against a tree. Echoes reverberating through them. Mossy bark digging into her cloak. How, in between kisses—

“You haven’t done a Homenum Revelio,” she said. The glow, which had become a signal of danger as much as any curse, hadn’t graced her. “You don’t know that I’m alone.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t need to.” He looked her up and down, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a small smile. “I know you—I knew you would be here alone.”

There should have been the reminder that she hadn’t done one, either. That her footsteps and his were the only ones in the snow was no promise of their surroundings. She flexed her fingers around her wand and a jet of white light snaked through the snowfall. The magic moved lazily, in no hurry but with no question of its destination. The tendrils of light connected the wands and there was a gentle glow in the space between them as if the moon hung too low in the sky and longed to touch the earth.

“Not the dream you hoped I was?” he asked. “Or am I just a nightmare now?”

She shivered. Just the cold winter evening. Just standing too long in an open doorway, even if the heat from the fire was caressing her back. He twisted his wand, causing the jet to twirl and tug on hers. She made a sharp movement and the jet might have been mistaken for a flurry of snow as it blustered in the space between them then faded away. She grabbed the doorframe with her other hand.

Tell me what you’ve been dreaming of, he wanted to say. He wanted to yell the words. Beg them. Merlin, he wanted an answer. He wanted to hear from her lips that she still believed in an end to the war. An end where they were together. They stood, gazes fixed on each other, and further apart than ever.

“You killed Dumbledore.” She ran her hand over her hair. “You’re working for Vold—”

“NO!” he roared, as he hurled a Silencing Charm towards her.

Her hand flew to her mouth just as she was silenced. Her eyes wide with shock, he strode towards her, anger erasing caution. As he closed the distance between them she lifted the charm before he could, then she stepped back, only to stumble. She lunged instinctively for his robes and with nothing for him to grab, they tumbled to the floor. Her back slammed against the wood as he braced himself and fell on his hands, grimacing as his wand was pushed back against his palm.

She whined in pain as she caught her breath.

“The Snatchers.” He couldn’t stop his gaze going to her mouth before looking back at her eyes. “The Taboo, surely you know about it?”

“Of course I do,” she said, her voice catching as possibilities tumbled around her.

She would have Disapparated in time. She could have fought. She shouldn’t have slipped so easily. Her heaving chest brushed against his robes. His cloak covered them both and his gloved hands spread out on the floorboards either side of where she lay.

“There’s a price on my head, I know there is.” She shouldn’t be looking at his mouth. She definitely shouldn’t have been thinking about him being on top of her, one of his legs between hers. “What’s the reward? Galleons or—?”

“It’s not Galleons.” His associates wanted blood and so much more from the Aurors who had defied them for so long. The Aurors who had captured and imprisoned them. And she lay beneath him like a dryad caught. Furious gold eyes fixed on his. Hair which he realised wasn’t black but the deep green of the forest she was trying to escape into. 

“Tell me.” Her words like her, caught in the midst of transformation. Both a command and a plea. The weight of his body against hers, the way they fit together. Her mind racing with thoughts of torture and pleasure. All competing to see which would win.

“It won’t help you to know.” It would hurt her. It was too much of a chance. A shield she could use. “Hide. Just hide. Stay at your parents’ cottage and use every ward you know.”

“Please,” she said, her voice breaking.

His gaze fell to her throat. To her collarbones. To the curve of her neck. He swallowed and said, resigned, “You are to be handed over to me. If you’re captured, you’re to be incapacitated but otherwise left unharmed so that I may—may do with you as I see fit.”

She exhaled as if she’d been hit. “How?”

“Everyone talks after raids and meetings. The Dark Lord listens. He—I made sure to mention that you were always suspicious of me being allowed in the Order. Undermining my actions for him and breathing down my neck. That if I could exact revenge on you—he suggested if you were found that you be a reward for my—my actions, and I accepted.”

“At a revel?” Her hands grasping his robes, she pulled him closer, searching his eyes for an answer. Though his hood kept him in shadow, there was no mistaking his dark gaze. “With an audience?” She tugged him an inch closer. “Severus!”

In another lifetime, begging for a life to be saved hadn’t worked. This time there was the chance he could save a life only by accepting the gift of being her death. “I pleased the Dark Lord sufficiently that he seemed inclined to let me do as I wished should you be captured.”

She pushed him away and scrambled up from the floor as he sat on his heels. Her lips parted with words which wouldn’t come. He pushed his hood down. She stepped back and grabbed the bedpost when her legs hit the mass of blankets which were spilling onto the floor. She saw the tiredness etched in his face. A flurry bustled past him, catching on his cloak in its rush to reach her only to be defeated by the heat of the fire.

Away from the Ministry, in a quiet corner of a cobblestone lane where lanterns glowed orange in the falling snow and strings of lights graced windows of the Muggle houses, she took his hand and they Disapparated. Days from the solstice, the forest was already dark but for the full moon which seemed to take extra care to find the spaces in the canopy. She didn’t need a Lumos to help her find her way.

Up against trees when too many minutes had passed without a kiss.

Hands beneath cloaks and robes.

Anything to be closer.

Almost there, she promised, as sparks flew from their wands to find each other. 

He got to his feet and slammed the door shut before clearing the distance between them in two strides. He dropped to his knees in front of her and threw his wand aside as his cloak and robes billowed around him. She clenched her fists then ran her hands over her hair. 

“You don’t need a wand to do magic.” She wanted to reach out and touch him but she wrapped her arms around herself, keeping her wand held tight.

“And I can offer you no other vow or promise.” There was an attempt at anger but the problem was it happened to be the furthest thing from his mind.

His gloved hands went to the waist of her pyjamas, trailing along the hem then pulling them down in one sweeping tug. She grasped the bedpost more tightly and lifted her feet one at a time out of the pyjamas. The leather was soft on her legs as he stroked up towards her hips, his gloved fingers brushing against her long cotton top when nudged her. His hands, this touch, this belonged to her. 

She sat on the edge of the bed. What had he banished from the cabin when he shut out the night? The warmth of the fire seemed to wrap itself around him. This was the man who betrayed her. Who betrayed everyone. And that was what mattered, she tried to remind herself. It wasn’t her hurt. So why did she miss this man on his knees? She reached out but he pulled away and sat back on his heels. The fire crackled and shadows danced along the walls.

She leant back and propped herself up on her hands. Her feet settled on his thighs. The soft cream wool in stark contrast against thick black cloth. It was strange the things he found himself missing. But lying in bed while sleep hesitated to approach him, the headmasters quarters warmed by the fire in the large hearth, he stared at the ceiling painfully aware of how she wasn’t wrapped around him. How her head wasn’t on his shoulder. How her cold feet weren’t against him. He would watch the light from the flames recede across the beams as the fire burned low. And then he would practice Occlumency with the vague intention of sleep and every desire to not let himself slip in protecting every memory of her.

“Lie down,” he said.

“No.”

A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “What, exactly, do you think I’m planning to do while you’re not looking?” 

“I want to see you,” she said, quietly.

He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the floor.

He kept his gaze fixed on hers as his hand went to the soft curls he hadn’t touched in months. His fingers parting her, she swallowed and drew in a deep breath as he drew a finger across her clit. His dark eyes searched hers as his finger swept across her again. She grasped the quilt tight in her hands and when she pushed her feet against him his fingers slid down to tease her with small strokes. His thumb brushed circles around her clit and she swore at him. She brought her feet up to his shoulders and closed her eyes. Her heart started racing as his fingers slid inside her. She opened her eyes and sunk down onto her elbows. He took his fingers from her and drew them up to her clit, circling her once before bringing his hand to her belly, the buttons on the cuff of his robes pressing against her, his fingertips resting on her bare skin.

To do with her as he wished.

And he was waiting.

She didn’t want him to walk away.

Didn’t want to give in.

As if he wasn’t between her legs. 

Kneeling.

Waiting.

She knew she wasn’t the only one he knelt in front of.

Knew he didn’t kneel like this for anyone else.

Her voice caught when she swore again, and she lay down.

She rubbed her face and sniffed, only to gasp, almost crying with relief as his body moved beneath her feet, his fingers parting her. His mouth against her. His tongue teasing her. When she reached down, he didn’t move away, and she took his head in her hands, fingers tangling in his long hair. He didn’t hesitate in slipping two fingers inside her and she rocked her hips to bring him deeper. Eyes closed, she tried to believe they could have been in his quarters. Not in a cabin where she was unsure which of them was the fugitive. 

One of her feet slid from his shoulder and caught in the hood of his cloak. She brought her foot back up and he tugged the metal fixings away from his throat. She arched her back and he slowed his fingers and tongue until she relaxed again. Her body, her legs, her hands. All of her being overcome with waves of exquisite tension. Some which surged through her and others which graced her by shivers and eased only to swell again. Her fingers tangled in his hair and pressed into him as she danced near the edge. 

She panted his name and let go of him. With a quiet moan, she gently bucked her hips. He pulled away and took his fingers from her. She sat up and swallowed hard as she met his dark gaze. She moved towards the pillows and he followed her, getting on the bed and kneeling between her spread legs. His arms stayed by his sides as if he was suddenly afraid to touch her. His cloak already hanging open, she undid the buttons on his robes then was slipping his belt through the buckle. The clink of metal too loud in the silence between them. She pushed his trousers down and her hands traced back up his thighs. Nudging his shirt, her eyes darted to his when she saw the deep purple of new scars across his body. His hand wrapped around her wrist, guided her away from the freshly healed wounds, then let go.

He was already hard and she wrapped her fingers around him, pulling down gently so she could see the head of his cock. Thick veins against her fingers, beneath her thumb he was smooth and glistening from readiness. Resting her forehead against his body, she stroked him slowly as her other hand traced up the inside of thigh. She licked her lips. How long had it been since she last tasted him? 

She should be summoning the Order.

Should be binding him.

Should be fighting.

On slow mornings when there was no rush to wake up, once they had eased from sleep, she would tease him with her hand before she settled between his legs, her arms resting on his thighs, one hand spread across his body while the other was around him. Tongue following veins. Licking where he glistened. Tracing the firm edges around his head. She took her time before taking him in her mouth. Each inch savoured slowly with the sounds which slipped from his mouth. With the hand he had grasping her hair and the other on her cheek. As much of him in her as she could comfortably manage, then the slow pull away before taking him again. The tensing of his body beneath her, his tightened grasp and firm hold. Then her name, a caution. Her name, a warning. And she stayed while he came. Didn’t rush to release him but took her time. Then she was climbing back up the bed while his hands moved down her body and pulled her into his arms.

His mouth finding hers.

Savouring her.

They were already bound.

They had no time to fight.

They knew they were enemies.

“We haven’t got long,” he said, quietly.

She nodded and he moved with her as she lay back. She kicked his cloak as she sought to slip her feet beneath his robes. She stroked him once more before guiding him as he closed the distance. Both breathing heavily as he slowly filled her. Six months since they had last lain like this. Since the world changed and they were on different sides. His cloak covered them like a blanket. Even as the buttons of his shirt pressed into her body, there was a part of her which could believe it was an ordinary weekday as she took his head in her hands again. The line of his jaw against her palm. His pulse against her fingers. His hair brushing against her skin. And still he wouldn’t look at her.

Six months of wondering what had happened. What she’d missed. Where had that scar come from? How many others were there? Was he keeping his clothes on for a quick escape or to hide what was happening to him? What did it matter?

He was meant to be the enemy.

He was the enemy.

He was thrusting slowly.

He was everything she missed and remembered.

He hadn’t planned more than seeing if there was smoke rising from the forest. And now she had her legs around him. There was a scar stretching across her collar bone down towards her chest. The colour flickering as she grappled to hold onto her metamorphosing. Why, he wanted to ask. Was it pleasure? It always used to be pleasure. Used to be. Or was she refusing to let down her guard? But then, why wouldn’t she? He was the enemy, after all.

Still thrusting slowly, he tugged on her top until it was bunched up above her breasts. He pressed his lips to the soft curve of her skin, one kiss after another until he took her nipple in his mouth. A wave of pleasure surged through her and she arched her back, her hands slipping down to his shoulders. She pushed her feet into his back. Releasing her nipple, he moved to her other breast and the cold air snuck in where he mouth had been.

Coldness always found her when he left.

All the more reason to keep the fire burning.

Except—

No—

“Please let me see—” she said, a whimper from a deep thrust cutting off the rest of her words.

He kissed her breast and lingered, his mouth inches above her chest before raising his head and meeting her gaze. Those dark eyes, deeper than any night or shadow. His hair fell over his shoulders and she pushed it back, her hands lingering on the back of his neck.

“I don’t—I don’t want to come yet.” Her words desperate, knowing how close they both were. Knowing he was going to leave regardless. “I’m not ready.”

His rhythm slowed and his gaze drifted to her mouth. His eyes closing when she moaned. The tension was building in him, and beneath her legs she could feel his back tensing further. Touching herself on sleepless nights could only ever bring her echoes of him and now he was here.

The corner of his mouth pulled up in a small smile and he opened his eyes when she reached down between them. The buttons on his shirt pressed into her arm as her fingers brushed against him when he pulled out, then her fingers were drifting back up to stroke her clit as he thrust into her again.

He met her gaze in time to watch the forest leave her, taking the gold with it, as she returned to her own soft brown.

And still.

There was a part of him which wanted to say, Don’t.

Not yet.

Please.

A little longer.

It’s been too long.

And she gave in. She knew this man. Back arching and legs tightening around him. His hair grasped in one hand while the other brought her that little bit closer to the edge. Her deep moans saturated the air around them and she brought her hand back up to his face, too sensitive to tolerate more than him. Wanting him to bring her this climax. So close. Eyes open, she thought. Lost in him. Lost in focusing on the building pleasure that was him for the first time in months. A small part of her wanted to cry; the part which couldn’t hand over its hurt to the fire. He was watching her and leant closer but he only rested his forehead against hers for a moment. Then she was rendered silent but for the smallest whimpers as the overwhelming release of tension tore through her too quickly.

The surges of pleasure still racing through her limbs, he pushed himself up, and his face was in near darkness again as his hair fell forward and his gaze drifted to her body. His pace quickened and she brought her knees further up. Brought him deeper. Dug her feet into his back as her fingers pressed into the taut muscles of his arms. Then came the thrust that wrought a grunt from him. Pressed against her, deep inside her, still coming and he couldn’t look at her.

Enemy. 

He was the enemy. 

He was her—

“Stay,” she begged.

He simply wanted to see if she came back.

His haggard breaths betrayed him as he pulsed in her and thrust gently a few more times. 

She was the enemy.

She was his—

“No.” He pulled out when the last pulse had barely left him and he sat back on his ankles, forcing her legs from around him. Her feet rested on the bed, her thighs still on his. He rubbed his jaw then his hand slipped around to the back of his neck. I can’t, he wanted to tell her, but he could only repeat, “No.”

He just wanted to see if the fire was burning.

If she thought of him.

Believed him.

She propped herself up on her elbows and his gaze wandered from between her legs, and proof of what they had done, to her top still bunched above her breasts. Then her gold eyes met his and he realised she had already retreated to the forest. He looked away and got up off the bed.

He had fled once.

Why wouldn’t he flee again?

She lingered on the bed for only a moment longer before adjusting her pyjama top and getting up to pull on the pyjama bottoms as he dealt with his trousers. He picked up his wand and gloves, slipping them inside his robes before sorting out his shirt. She shrugged on her robes to ward off the cold that was embracing her and she slipped her wand in the pocket of her pyjama bottoms. Feet cold, she pulled on her boots, too. The idea of staying was disappearing with his heat. 

He had made a start on the buttons of his robes when she came over and began doing them. She kept her focus on each fabric covered button and every perfectly tailored buttonhole. He withdrew his wand and brought it between them, the tip of the dark wood brushing against her robes. She scrunched up her nose as she tried to stave off a shiver when the heat from the charm settled in her belly.

“I would have done it.” She pushed the last button through its buttonhole. Her fingers lingering on the delicate stitching as she sought to check it was just right, whatever that was now. It certainly wasn’t the mornings where they would get dressed and she would sort his robes while he sought to distract her. And hadn’t he distracted her. 

“I know,” he admitted, quietly, as he lowered his wand. He pushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “Tonks.”

Her gaze flitted from his mouth to his eyes as she pressed the tip of her wand under his chin.

“I see.” He knew he would never tire of how quick she was on the draw. “Ceasefire over?”

“That was a ceasefire?”

He raised his wand further up her body until it was against hers. A suggestion or a reminder, he wasn’t sure. Their wands had fought one another. Been joined together. Been grabbed by the other in the haze of sleep on slow mornings. Her wand remained unmoved. He lowered his. And in that moment he wanted nothing more than to rest his hands on her waist.

She knew this man. “Why did you come?” Knew the man who he used to be, anyway.

He was about to lean closer when her wand dug in deeper. “You think it wasn’t for the same reason you did?”

“Whose side are you on?”

“The winning side, I hope.”

“No.” The word fell from her lips in a strangled cry. She looked up at the ceiling and sniffed, lowering her wand as her other hand went to her mouth.

“I’m the same man you married,” he implored. “I can tell you nothing else, but you can know that.”

“So you’re a liar?” she asked with an empty smile. “A killer?”

“Yes,” he said, bitterly. “Destroyed the paperwork, I take it?”

“No,” she said, thickly. “It’s at home. I mean, at my parents’.” She had never been able to bring herself to burn the pieces of parchment which spelled out in ink what they had done. The ones tucked away inside a book in her bedroom. 

“No one knows?” And he knew the answer, but the torture he continued to witness forced the question from him.

“Merlin forbid anyone know. Would the great Occlumens paint me as a conquest?” She shot him an attempt at loathing which was just poorly disguised grief. “How would you transform me?” She closed the distance again, wand still lowered, yet with venom in each word. “What have you told—what have you told your master?”

“Nothing you would be happy to hear.”

He had stories figured out. The easiest being that he had done it all to maintain cover in the Order. The records deep in the Ministry wouldn’t be stumbled over easily, and she had all the other copies. Along with the Obliviate on the officiant, he tried to believe he could find some ease in the notion they could continue to escape discovery. An ease which disappeared all too often.

He couldn’t bear to see the hurt any longer and yet it killed a part of him to turn and walk away from her.

She had endured curses which didn’t hurt as much as him leaving. He opened the door and cold air rushed in, the night revelling in its return and racing to greet the fire as it hurried to touch everything it could. The flames bristled at the intrusion. He stepped outside, the snow crunching beneath his boots. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pause. And the worst part was she knew he wouldn’t. She watched him begin to disappear into the darkness.

She wasn’t ready to lose him again, and she ran outside.

“I lit the fire.” The desperate truth on her lips the closest she could find herself to confessing.

He stopped at the edge of the tiny clearing, almost hidden by the trees. His fingers flexed around his wand. Moments from a Lumos or Disapparation. He had been finding his way across the ground trying to figure out whether to sacrifice more time. To take the risk and be in the forest even if it was without her. Or to leave. To leave her behind until—

She barrelled into him and as he turned, he caught her. She dragged him back, half stumbling so she was leaning against a tree with him against her. 

Her chest was heaving and she couldn’t stop the tears. “I should have summoned the Order and instead I—”

“Regret it?”

“No,” she said, softly, as she shook her head.

It was the wrong answer.

It should have been the wrong answer.

“You’ve decided I’m not a traitor, then?” He leaned closer, her panted breaths hot against his skin as he held her waist. “Am I not the enemy?”

His name was little more than a whimper on her lips.

With reluctance which was only there to ease her conscience, she slipped her arms around him.

He inclined his head towards the cabin. “Did that mean nothing?”

“I’m not a war,” she said. “As if your loyalties to one witch could decide everything.”

“And if they did?”

“Maybe for a younger man they would.” She had seen the young Death Eaters, newly branded and blinded by their master. By what they’d been promised and lured into. “But you’ve seen too much.” She searched his eyes in the light which struggled to reach them. “You’re fighting for something bigger. We’re—I mean—”

“Then you believe I’m on your side.”

“No.” Almost a whine of pain. Her heart was pounding. “No. You’re not fighting for me, Severus.”

“But do you believe I’m still fighting?” His words were urgent, his hold on her tightening. “Tonks?”

“You’re meant to kiss if you meet under the mistletoe,” she said, thickly, raising her wand. “Lumos Minima.”

He looked up at the branches above them, where the mistletoe had made itself at home, the stems heavy with berries.

She wiped her cheeks though it made little difference. “Please don’t die.”

“I don’t recall mistletoe being quite so dangerous.”

“In the old stories mistletoe slayed a god.”

“Because he kissed his wife?”

“Because of a prophecy.”

He gave a bitter laugh and looked away. Her hand came up to his cheek, fingers tangling in his hair, and she guided him back to her. She still managed to be warm, and in the light of the Lumos Minima, he searched her eyes. “Did he have a wife?”

Tonks nodded.

“What happened to her? What happened to his goddess?”

“She died, too.”

Resting his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes. “There are worse fates than death.” 

She could feel his defences crumbling. The quiet tells no one else would know. What had happened in the past few months? What had he witnessed? What had he done? With each wondering, each tendril reaching out through the possibilities she could imagine, she felt her own defences begin to give, the weight of the night pressing in.

Her fingers gently nudging him, he leaned closer, only to pause an inch from her when she began to cry again.

“Will it be that bad if I kiss you?” he asked.

“I’m scared I’ll believe you,” she said, her voice breaking.

She kept waiting for him to breathe. When he did, he pulled away.

“Then I won’t burden you,” he said, and he stepped back before walking towards the trees. Where her hand had slipped from him, the warmth was consumed by searing cold like a bolt of pain. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was easier to save her by staying the enemy. Except he believed her. Believed they would one day no longer be enemies. Believed—

Maybe he was wrong to come.

He turned and raised his wand.

The jet of white light searched for her with an urgency he couldn’t disguise.

Couldn’t keep at bay.

Not now.

The light found her wand, and as she ran towards him, she turned her wand and pulled him closer. The bond wound around them as if in a panic of its own, checking for breaks and fractures, and not easing until it found them unbroken.

The stars blinked and looked down upon the two of them holding each other close, the constellations curious as to how they were surrounded by so much light that it was almost as if they’d stolen the moon. 

A magic which belonged in joy fought through thorns. Yet in each other’s embrace, they both knew there was more to come. There would be more pain before they were out of the darkness.

Her hands on his face, the plea fell from her lips again, “Please don’t die.” She brought him closer. “Tradition is a kiss for every berry picked.”

His lips brushing hers, he said, “Not under the mistletoe now.”

She gave a hiccoughing laugh. “A kiss for each star?”

“I don’t have time,” he said, quietly. “There’s a war to fight, and I have to return.”

“Of course.”

“Hide, Tonks.”

“Don’t die,” she begged. 

He pressed his lips to hers. The closest he could get to a promise. The furthest thing from assurance. And she deepened the kiss. His gloved hands pulling her closer, she gasped against him and he knew she was trying not to cry even as she sought his mouth again. They couldn’t make up for six months parted. Couldn’t give enough of themselves to hold over until the next time. And they knew it. Each time their lips met, as breaths were caught and cheeks wiped, there was next time. How long? Each kiss deepened, the admission that neither knew. 

You have to survive, she thought. You have to. He couldn’t die because he came. Because he kissed her. This risk had to be worth it. His hands kept her close though she made no move to find distance. In the end, she only turned her head as she tried to stifle more tears, and he pressed his lips to her neck. Stayed there, his face buried against her. And she believed him. That he was still fighting, the spark of truth barely flickering in her hands. And she knew why she lit the fire. Knew why he came back. 

“Happy anniversary,” she said, softly, watching her breath turn to mist. Her quiet attempt at sentimentality becoming visible only to disappear, never tangible in the first place.

“You think so?” he said, his voice muffled against her, then he pressed his lips to her neck again.

“We’re together, aren’t we?” She nudged his head until he was looking at her. Stroked his cheek with her thumb. “You can’t die.”

He wanted to believe it was a command not a plea. A request he couldn’t deny. And all he could do was leave her with a possibility. “When do you think it will be over?”

She looked up at the stars and tried to take a steadying breath only for it to become a shaky gasp. “I don’t know.” She met his gaze then stole a kiss, lingering with her lips against his. “I just know it will end. It has to, you know that, Severus.”

“With us on the same side?” He brought his gloved hand to her face and wiped her cheek. Her eyes, once again the familiar soft brown, were shining. She leant into his touch and closed her eyes for a moment. He pressed his lips to hers and she moaned against his mouth before deepening the kiss. A moan from months ago. The soft promise of being led back to bed. Of a few more minutes before she really did have to leave. And he was the one who was going to leave. He wanted to come back. Wanted to come back to her without being under the cover of secrets and dark nights. Under the cover of stars which had a habit of writing the stories of lovers as tragedies across the skies.

“I—yes—I hope so.” She stole another kiss. One more proof. “I hope so.” Her eyes screwing up and pulling away as the sob overwhelmed her. He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his shoulder. 

“Happy anniversary,” he said, quietly.

Beneath him, she basked in the heat of his body against hers while the fire roared close by. She arched her back and moaned when his slow thrust filled her again. His lips were on her neck, his hands tangled in her hair as he propped himself up on his elbows. Her arms around his body, her fingers were splayed up across his shoulders, his muscles taut beneath her touch, rippling with each movement. They had already rushed once. When they reached the cabin and took no time in taking off clothes. Took no time in bringing each other to a climax. Took no time in realising the power the bond wielded over them both. The bond which came easily to them and their magic. But now was the time to be slow. To savour each other. In the quiet sleepy haze, finding each other again. Where they had raced, they chose this time around to meander. Time stretching out in front of them, eased by the heat of the fire. By the warmth under the blankets. By bodies that were still buzzing but sought more. Bodies content to lie together while slow kisses filled long minutes until there was a nudge. A caress in reply. And they settled into a new position. She didn’t wrap her legs around him but let herself sink back into the bed, too tired to do more than enjoy him. 

“How can your feet still be cold,” he said, hissing when she pressed her feet against his legs.

She laughed, then said, “Can we come here every year?”

He thrust a little harder and a moan tumbled from her with another laugh. He kissed her neck. “Yes, though we could always come at other times, too.”

“Dungeons—dungeons in the summer.” She closed her eyes, lost in him being in her. “Cooler.” She forced herself to open her eyes. “Plus I prefer being here when the fire’s burning.”

“We can come back when it’s time for the fire to be burning, then,” he said, his hand trailing down her thigh to nudge her behind the knee until she brought her legs up around him.

She sought his mouth, pressed her lips to his, and he deepened the kiss. The heat between them. Beneath the blankets. From the fire. That she carried in her. It was all that was keeping the cold and dark from freezing him.

Snow began to fall around them and she slipped her hands under his cloak, wrapping her arms around him. He stroked her back and when she shivered, he tugged his cloak around her, holding it gathered at the small of her back. The dregs of pain which had sunk their claws into her over the past few months were softened. She knew they would harden to sharper points than ever as soon as he left.

“I have to return to Hogwarts,” he said.

“Winter’s going to be here for a while.” 

“No.”

“Spring?”

He pressed his lips to hers for the briefest kiss.

It shouldn’t hurt.

But it was his fault.

He couldn’t complain.

“Autumn,” she suggested, her lips brushing his.

“Tonks.”

“Next winter. I’ll make it even easier, how about a year today.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Same time?” he conceded, with a sad smile. 

“I’ll be here.”

He took her arms from around him, pulled up his hood, and stepped away from her.

He headed towards the trees and walked through the wards.

“Severus,” she called, softly.

He stopped and turned to look at her. “Yes?”

Her lips parted with words which wouldn’t come.

He wanted to cross the few feet between them, but she was where he couldn’t be. Not yet. As if—

The white jet flew from her wand and cast an ethereal light across the snow as it sought him and connected them.

She knew this man. “The fire—I—”

He gave a small nod. “I know.”

She whispered words he told himself he couldn’t hear, but he’d watched her lips too often to mistake what she was saying.

His mouth pulled up in a small smile and he flexed his fingers then twisted his wand so she didn’t have to. The jet faded away, not lingering but resigned to the decision made. Then he turned away from her and Disapparated.

The darkness was suddenly empty and she drew in a shaky breath. She didn’t have to wonder. Didn’t have to try and believe otherwise. He was gone. Though there were still the touches of him, which she knew if she let herself, were with her always. The snow crunching beneath her boots, she pawed at her eyes as she made her way back to the cabin. The fire extinguished, another charm rendered what was left safe. The bed sorted out, she slung her cloak on and took out her gloves. About to leave, she glanced back inside, staring at the place where they had lain together.

He Apparated back to the mountainside. Waited until the last tendrils of smoke disappeared. Maybe there was hope after all. He let the cold night take the words from him, and wondered if the breeze might carry them to her. Then he returned to Hogwarts.

Not even hours.

Just long enough that they—

Just long enough to remind her—

She closed the door. “Colloportus.” 

All but running, she crossed the snow until she was beneath the trees and beyond the boundaries. She turned and Disapparated.

The halls of the Ministry were decked in glorious boughs of evergreens. War wasn’t going to stop the official attempts of calm. Where Scrimgeour’s face graced the front of the Daily Prophet, there was always another story reminding the wizarding community there was still time to buy presents and had they seen all the shops still open in Diagon Alley?

They were in and out of the building in under thirty minutes. Rarely used corridors. Meeting up in a quiet spot. He had no compunctions about using an Obliviate on the wizard who officiated. She tried to be concerned but instead took the time to take all the paperwork which was created by the brief ritual. The two pieces of parchment in her robes, and his conscience unbothered, they left.

Sometimes he would smile when she said the war would be over one day and they wouldn’t have to hide.

Sometimes his brow would furrow and he would tell her there was no proof.

Sometimes he would pull her close, press his lips to hers, and by the time she was close to coming, she knew he barely believed in the next day.

Opening the door, she found the kitchen quiet and dark but for the fire. She took the note from beneath the plate of gingerbread and threw the parchment into the flames, watching the edges blacken and curl as they burned. She kept glancing back at the fire as she took off her boots and cloak. In her bedroom, she hung her robes on the back of the door, then climbed into bed and curled up under the blankets. Stirring in the night, hours before Christmas dawned, she woke from dreams of what the next winter might bring. She turned over, pulled the blankets close, and drifted back to the cabin, mistletoe, and him.


End file.
